Please Read This Once, Teacher
I stepped out of the inn, letting the night breeze whip against me as I hurried toward the grand headquarters of Danga Sangdan, nestled in Nakyang's most bustling district. At the entrance to the shadowy guild shrouded in darkness, burly muscle-bound guards still radiated a menacing aura, standing watch like ironclad sentinels. The moment they spotted my face, they bent at the waist in obsequious bows, clearing the way. These were the same thugs who once looked ready to rip me limb from limb and toss me to the alley dogs, but now that I was the golden goose laying profit eggs, their attitudes had flipped 180 degrees.
I navigated the opulent corridors of the guild with practiced ease and pushed open the door to Sub-Branch Leader Danche Ryeong's lavish private office. The room was filled with the intoxicating aroma wafting from a top-grade incense burner, and behind a massive rosewood desk sat Danche Ryeong in her striking red silk robes. She fixed me with a cold, haughty gaze, her expression dripping with arrogance.
"You barely made the deadline, I see. Well then, hand over that precious manuscript of yours."
Her voice slithered out like a viper eyeing prey, and with excruciatingly elegant, languid grace, she extended her hand demanding the pages. But that flawless act of superiority had one fatal flaw. The tips of her slender fingers trembled with fine, violent shivers—like a junkie in the throes of withdrawal from the deadliest drug. She couldn't hide the rabid instinct of a fanatic reader dying to drown her eyes in fresh, dopamine-drenched text.
I swallowed a chuckle and carefully drew the steaming stack of four freshly completed volumes from my robes, placing them into her waiting palm. That was the moment.
Shwick!
Her elegantly outstretched hand transformed into a terrifying bolt of lightning, snatching the manuscript from my grasp with savage speed. Tossing all pretense aside, she slammed it open on the desk, skimmed a few pages, drew in a massive breath, and bellowed at the top of her lungs.
"See? I knew it! The betrayer is Gam Uhyeok! Stabbing his sworn brother in the back, right? Right? You idiots, cough up your silver taels right now!"
Danche Ryeong's sudden, maniacal shout made the hulking guards lined up along the office walls grimace in unison, as if they'd rehearsed it. The vicious loan sharks pouted like sulky children, grudgingly fishing gleaming silver taels from their pockets and rolling them across the desk toward her.
Insane. These guys are nuts. It wasn't enough that ordinary martial artists in Nakyang's inns were getting heated over it—now even these heartless underworld sharks were running betting pools inside the guild on who the betrayer was. Their gambling instincts were truly something else.
Danche Ryeong gleefully pocketed the silver squeezed from her thugs' "high blood" and dove into the manuscript with terrifying focus. Swish, rustle. The room filled only with the crisp friction of turning pages and her beast-like, ragged excited breaths. Her lofty composure had long shattered; those unwavering, noble eyes quivered with the text's overwhelming pleasure and shock. She devoured the thick stack at breakneck speed until—thwack!—it was done, the final page slammed shut with ruthless finality.
She snapped her head up and glared at me with feral intensity, her face screaming utter disbelief, like she wanted to tear me apart.
"You bastard. You're seriously ending it here?"
Thick rage burned behind her icy stare, weighing down the room's air. The fourth volume climaxed with Cheon Ujae locked in a desperate, life-or-death brawl against the death ghosts sent by Gam Uhyeok to assassinate him, plummeting off a cliff into the abyss. Whether he lived, died, or gained some fateful opportunity was shrouded in perfect, maddening ambiguity—a textbook cliffhanger that would drive readers insane.
Her fists trembled with fury, but she didn't grab my collar demanding the rest. She was, after all, the ruthless, cunning merchant steering this guild. She knew better than anyone that slicing off at the exact point where readers wept blood in anticipation was what made the next volume explode off the shelves.
"Hoo..."
Suppressing her boiling frustration with a deep sigh, she parted her red lips and dropped a bombshell.
"Deadline for the next fifth volume—advanced by one day, starting today."
"What? No, Sub-Branch Leader! What kind of ridiculous thunderbolt nonsense is that?!"
I jumped in shock. Even typing on a computer, churning out ten chapters—a full volume in this world—in a week was no easy feat. I'd already been skimping on sleep to barely hit the weekly mark, and now she wanted to shave off a day? It was as good as telling me to grip the brush and work myself to death.
"No choice. Requests for your novels are pouring in like a waterfall across the entire murim."
She scoffed coldly, spouting nonsense excuses.
"To aim for simultaneous release beyond Nakyang into all of Honam, we need that extra day for the mountain of transcription work."
Bullshit. A blatant lie. Danga Sangdan's massive operation wouldn't buckle over one day. This woman was just indulging her selfish fan heart, desperate to feast her eyes on the next volume a single day sooner than anyone else! She was already hogging three days of exclusive privilege ahead of other readers, and now she couldn't wait even one more without shortening my lifespan.
Indignation surged up my throat, but I had no right to refuse. Danche Ryeong held my life and debts like an absolute "A" party; I was the wretched "B" groveling at her feet, scribbling away.
"Understood... I'll finish it in six days, no matter what it takes."
In the end, I swallowed tears and nodded like I'd eaten bitter mustard.
Dragging my heavy feet out of Danga Sangdan into Nakyang's pitch-black night streets, a chill wind ghosted over the back of my neck. A horror worse than despair over the shortened deadline began to creep up. In the distant shadows, I swear I glimpsed the phantom of Hwangbo Suyeon, her blue eyes gleaming as she prowled the night hunting the author's true identity.
Just where the hell is my pathetic life headed?
I trudged onward and finally reached the shabby dorm building when—
"Gah!"
I froze like a statue, nearly screaming. My heart plummeted to my feet. There, stock-still in front of my darkened door, stood someone waiting for me. Bathed faintly in moonlight: snow-white skin, elegant martial robes radiating poise. It was none other than Cheongryong Mugwan's top prodigy and Hwangbo Sega's pampered jewel, Hwangbo Suyeon. Cradled in her arms like the world's most precious treasure were volumes 1, 2, and 3 of my novel, Regressor Sword God, This Life Fist King.
Her eyes flashed in the dark as she spotted me, and like a predator locking onto prey, she strode forward purposefully. A storm of thoughts raged through my head. Had she tailed me? How? Danche Ryeong's security was airtight. Flashes of her erupting with massive blue qi after gaining bizarre enlightenment from the novel... her eerie obsession to track down the author and wring every teaching from them... her terrifying intellect dismantling the betrayer's identity with flawless logic amid heated inn debates...
Now nose-to-nose, Hwangbo Suyeon thrust the novels toward me.
Damn, no helping it now? Resigned to my fate, I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for exposure.
"Actually..."
As I opened my mouth in defeated tones—
"Teacher Yeon Woon-ryong, if it's not too much trouble, could you please read this writing once thoroughly?"
Her words utterly derailed my expectations. Huh? I popped my eyes open, doubting my ears. She hadn't come knowing I was the author? Dazed, I stared blankly at her. Hwangbo Suyeon continued in her signature aloof, earnest tone.
"As Cheongryong Mugwan's literature teacher, sir, you must have encountered far deeper and more varied writings than a mere martial artist like me."
Her clear eyes held not a shred of suspicion toward me.
"Please, read this great work closely."
She offered the books with both hands, reverent as if presenting sacred scriptures.
"And if you've ever seen a similar style or this kind of bold plotting anywhere in the past, could you let me know?"
I inwardly cheered, stealthily exhaling in relief. Thank god. A massive stroke of luck—she hadn't come sniffing out my identity. She was just seeking help from what she assumed was a knowledgeable "literature teacher" to track the author via stylistic clues from similar books. A meticulous, terrifying ploy to pinpoint the writer's hideout. Heaven for me, utter irony for her—bringing clues straight to the real author desperate to stay hidden.
I stifled a bursting laugh, forcing a stern expression.
"Oh? Uh, yeah... sure."
Playing flustered and ordinary, I took the books she offered.
"What's got you so serious about this? I'll read it deep tonight and stay after class tomorrow to tell you."
At my okay, a bloom of color warmed her icy face.
"Thank you so much, Teacher Yeon Woon-ryong!"
She beamed, practically bouncing, and bowed deeply to me.
"See you in class tomorrow!"
Then she dashed off toward the dorms with light, eager steps, like a girl who'd scored a vital lead. Watching her recede, I mused: That ice queen actually looking that happy? Kinda cute in a... Wait, snap out of it! I lightly slapped my cheeks, shaking off the stray thought. No matter how cute Hwangbo Suyeon was, it wasn't affection for me. Just rabid fandom for the fictional "absolute master" who'd penned the novel.
Of course, her beauty under the moonlight was dazzlingly pretty. Plus, her insane martial talent—enlightenment from one book nearly shattering a peak realm. And the backing of one of murim's Five Great Families, Hwangbo Sega's treasured daughter. If I revealed myself and gained her protection? Maybe escape Danga Sangdan's debt collectors for a comfy life?
My ex-webnovel writer's romantic fantasies started puffing up—
No! Absolutely not! I shook my head violently, shattering the delusion. Danche Ryeong was scary, but this upright righteous sect princess's hidden madness was no joke.
Get it together, Yeon Woon-ryong. What I needed to brain-rack now was one thing: What lie to spin tomorrow for this smart, tenacious genius girl? Denying knowledge outright was amateur hour. She'd scour all Nakyang for real leads, risking my tail. The perfect counter? Become her "investigator" myself—twist her hunt into Andromeda.
Leave plausible red herrings, earn her trust. Make her believe I was key to finding the author. Then her entire web of probes would dance to my tune. My murim life would get way comfier.
I lit a candle at my desk and fired up 100% author-brain. Time to craft a narrative to fool this picky reader perfectly. Through the deepening night, I muttered brilliant lines for her and rehearsed furiously. Only after that grueling survival script read-through could I finally crash.